I stand at the border between this life and the next.
I will tell Him how I feel, how it hurts to live, how I can’t go on anymore. I will tell Him when it is my turn to state my cause…I will tell Him that…
…I wish I could feel real, live who I really am. I am running round and round in circles grasping at straws, frantically hoping I will finally grab something to make the spinning stop.
Depression makes you feel rummaged. Thrown inside out, poked around in. Raped by the cruelty of life. I have nothing more to give. I have no words, no life, no breath. I feel expelled.
Suspended from living, hung out to dry. It feels like I am being punished for my inadequacies, obtuse choices and inconvenient birth. A white face stares back at me from behind the mirror, with deep hollow eyes that betray their fake smile. I touch the glass and feel myself, cold and smooth. Lifeless, yet breathing. My flesh carries a dying soul of a person I do not know.
The lost girl in the mirror glances at loneliness staring back at her, cries unseen tears, and reaches out to a forgotten image. Fading into darkness, my soul wants to disintegrate, disappear, move away. I walk amongst people and places, an emotionless shell carrying death while faking life. Touching little, absorbing nothing, I wander aimlessly. Smiling occasionally without meaning, I pretend to breathe. Ignoring the girl in all the mirrors I pass, hoping that one day she will no longer come, and I can finally disappear.
I want to get out of here, I want to go home to a place where there is no sadness, no mirrors, no unfair expectations.
I reach the end of the queue and stand before Him. I fall down on my knees.
I reach up to God in agony, tears streaming down my face. “Please let me come home!” I cry.
He holds my passport in His hands, only He can set the stamp with date and time when I enter heaven. He looks at me, hears my cries, and looks down at my passport again.
“Many times you have tried to exit your life on earth and enter here.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Each time you get turned down.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
God reaches down to me, looking me directly in the eyes.
“Why do you think you are never allowed to enter?”
“Because the time isn’t right?”
“Because I have more to do on earth?”
“Think deeper than that.”
“Because you don’t want me here?”
“Of course not.”
“Because if I give in to depression I am a coward?”
“No, my dear child, you are not a coward for not wanting to live.”
“Well…why can’t you stamp my passport then? Why don’t you give me permission to leave earth?”
“Because when you are sad, I am there. When you cry, I wipe away your tears. When depression eats you from the inside out, I am fighting it with you. Even when you can’t see Me, I am within you, and they see Me. You don’t have to do anything, or say anything. They see Me.”
“Who sees You?”
“They do”, God answered as He pointed to a box.
I was confused; who could possibly live in a box that small?
“You can’t leave until I stamp your passport, and I can only do that when this box is empty. If I do that now I will have to throw all these away”, He answered, opening the box.
I peered inside inquisitively.
Passports, hundreds of passports, with faces I did not know. Travellers that could only pass through this border if I didn’t.
Too many would never enter heaven if I chose not to live.
I look into His loving eyes that hold my every thought.
“Thank You”, I whisper.
I turn around and walk past the crowds of people waiting in the queue. Old people, young people, children, babies.
I choose to live.
I choose to enjoy the life given me.
I choose to look in the mirror and smile.
I choose, because He chose me.
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